The Phone That Never Rings
by The Water Daemon
Summary: After writing a depressing fic about a romance between Dr. Death and Rose, the author decides to opt for a happier one. This is the result. Whoo, it's finished.
1. The Phone That Never Rings

Author's Note: My bad attempt at trying to do something that wasn't violent and was somewhat 'happy.' (I'm really bad at happy.) It's only two parts. -gasp- Neopets is not copyright me, and the name Rose for the Uni that accompanies Dr. Death was created by karma_leafbarer.  
  
The alarm was more of a fog horn as it blasted into Charon Thanatos' consciousness, grasping his arm roughly and yanking him without mercy from a restless sleep into a relatively groggy awakening. The two weights that he called eyelids refused to open for a moment even as he put all of his energy into the task-finally, after what seemed like hours, a crack of light streamed into his eyes. Immediately, he jammed them shut once again, wasting the time that it had taken him to get them open in the first place. He was used to his efforts being futile, and as he threw his arm over his eyes to try and slip back into a peaceful sleep, hoping to forget that he would be missing work for the third day straight, he allowed himself to slip back into a subconscious state, although his alarm still buzzed loudly in the background, just becoming part of the city din he could hear outside.  
  
However, through the persistent buzzing that became more like a constant metronome of setting him to sleep, there came another noise: shriller, and significantly more annoying. He immediately recognized what it was, though he was in disbelief that he was actually hearing it. Sitting up in bed, the weights suddenly seemed to detach themselves from his eyelids, he stared forwards at the table across from his raggedy bed, the table with a small light on it, a package of cigarettes, a lighter and one other object that now seemed horribly foreign to him. He couldn't believe that the small device was actually making that horrid noise; he couldn't remember the last time it did. In a way, it was the beginning to the things to come, yet an end to the normality of his life, or rather what could be considered normality.  
  
The phone that never rang was ringing.  
  
It felt strange, getting up from his bed of an hour before 12:00 PM. Although he hadn't done it for more than a week, it already seemed to have become his routine. He would wake up at sometime around three o' clock in the afternoon, fluff his hair into place, re-hydrate his yellow skin with a splash of water. Still in his boxers, he would proceed to eat a meal and then would go outside and sit on the fire escape, looking vacantly out at the city while enjoying a package of cigarettes, still in his boxers. After the pack was finished, he would have one more meal and then stumble back into bed, falling into a deep sleep without hesitation.  
  
It wasn't much of a routine, but he was already falling into the rut of it, just as he had done with everything else. He certainly enjoyed it more than his previous melancholy encounter with the world: formerly, he would awaken bright and early at 5:00 AM, shower and get dressed, getting ready for a world that did not want him. After perhaps fiddling around on violin that he did not know how to play for a few minutes, he would go out to work without breakfast, only a cup of coffee and a handful of cigarettes in his system. Work had been pure, unfiltered Hell; he would sit behind a filthy counter and accept the rejections of Neopets from owners that did not know how to properly take care of pets. He did it with an apathetic mask, inhaling deep breaths of nicotine and tobacco, all the while receiving glares from his ever-present partner, Rose the Uni, beautiful and so terribly out of his league. He needed that mask, though; he could not show the world he cared. If they thought he cared, they would have something to use against him.  
  
After work had finished, he would go home and have a quick dinner, shower again and then smoke another package of cigarettes on the fire escape, his lab coat discarded on a chair in the dining room. But these fire escape escapes would not be done in an emotionless state as he had been doing for the past few days-no, quite the opposite. He would sit on the edge of the fire escape and let the tears of aggravation from the day slide down his face as he uttered not a whimper, staring with hatred down at the mindless people congregating below him.  
  
As his hand curved around the phone's receiver, it felt as if he were touching the body of a foreign woman. It was so smooth, so pure, so untouched, the only thing left untainted in his house. He brought the cool plastic to his cheek, wondering what to say. He hadn't spoken on the phone in the longest time. It was peculiar, now, to have it against his face. He pondered what he should say. "Go away," was the first thing that came to his mind, and he uttered these words darkly into the receiver, feeling a temptation to slam it down. Yet he was still curious to whom would dare calling the phone that never rang-and so he let the person on the other end speak.  
  
A small peep came from the other end, like someone trying to say something and then being choked before any words could come out. There was silence on the other end for a moment, and then the definite sound of someone placing a receiver back into the cradle. His phone crackled a bit, and then returned to a steady dial tone in his ear, reverberating like his still-buzzing alarm clock.  
  
Slowly, he removed the receiver from his ear. He placed it on his table instead of the cradle, making sure that it made little noise as he put it down, ensuring that the phone that did not ring would not ring again. Turning back around, he almost literally fell back into his bed, slapping off the alarm. Now that he tried to sleep, however, he found it next to impossible. His body seemed to get up itself and turn back to the phone that did not ring, picking up the receiver. The familiar recorded voice of a lady spoke into his ear, and he placed the receiver back into the cradle temporarily, picking it up after a moment. Gingerly, he picked it up again and dialed star-6-9.  
  
"The last number that called you was: 555-7849. Press one if you would like to dial this number now."  
  
Charon pulled the phone away from his face again and dialed one, bringing it back to his ear. He could hear the tinny sounds of a computer dialing the number, and then the sound of a ringing phone on the other end. He waited as the phone rang once, than again, reaching up to three rings. A sound of someone picking up could be heard on the other end, and then a sweet, familiar voice, sounding slightly afraid. "Hello?"  
  
Charon knew that voice. He heard it all the time at work, every day with the exception of the past two days. His eyes widened as he heard it, for he was sure that someone like her would have no business calling someone like himself. He was positive that she must've had the wrong number and must have realized it at the last second; that would explain why she had hung up. Rose the Uni certainly hadn't called him before; she was one of those pretty types, the ones he wished he could have but couldn't. Women like that never called him, and never would, and such things did not change in the world that Charon lived in. Before he could say anything, he slammed the phone back down into the cradle, his heart thundering in his chest. Immediately he regretted the decision, but it had been made-he pulled the phone off the hook and put it to the side, ensuring that it would not ring.  
  
He stared at the phone, his eyes wide, his blood coursing through his body in a way that it had not done so since a desperate Lupe had almost taken off his arm trying to escape from the prison called the Adoption Center. The phone seemed to pulse with its own life, wanting to ring again, wanting to be picked up and used, to call back that number that was now burned in his mind: 555-7849. His fingers twitched, but instead of reaching for the phone, his hands dove for the cigarettes and lighter to suppress the urge with another addiction.  
  
Opening the package, he pulled out a cigarette with his teeth and placed the remainder of the package on the table. Although he normally didn't smoke inside of his apartment (that was what he used the fire escape for), today he would make an exception. Bringing the lighter up to the tip of the cigarette, he lit it up, his hands shaking, making it harder to light. Throwing the lighter aside, he inhaled the burning tobacco deeply, feeling his muscles relax. Sighing, he fell back into the bed, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and exhaling.  
  
"Idiot," he muttered, closing his eyes, putting the cigarette back in his mouth and biting down hard on the filter in aggravation. The smoke from the cigarette drifted upwards towards the ceiling in curling patterns, reaching with clawed fingers and then sinking back down. He opened his eyes into slits, staring blankly at the ceiling. Within the smoke, he could see graceful images of a smiling Uni. A smile flickered briefly on his lips amidst his blank look, but then vanished immediately, transforming into a grumpy scowl. Sitting up, he leaned over and put his elbows on his knees, shaking his head, his silver-brown hair floating in front of his eyes.  
  
Trying to turn his mind to other, less controversial subjects, he got off of the bed and headed towards the kitchen, giving in to the urge to eat.  
  
Tears streaked through Rose's normally perfect complexion, a lump rising quickly in her long throat. A clump of tissues was stationed next to her, all of them used and sopping with tears or mucus from numerous nose- blows. Two empty boxes of tissues lay on the ground, and a third was stationed in her lap, her hooves wringing another to death as she sobbed. The phone lay next to her, the phone she dare not touch, dare not use to call his number. For she could still see the handsome blue Uni's face as he dumped her so harshly, and she could not trust herself to not call him and start screaming her lungs out between fits of weeping.  
  
"I hate you Trevor!" she shrieked loudly and quite spontaneously, and chucked the tissue box, still full of tissues, across the room. It ricocheted off of a small clock on a table across from the room, a clock shaped like a heart that the blue Uni named Trevor, her ex-boyfriend, had purchased for her for their sixth month anniversary. A sense of accomplishment waved over her briefly as she saw it get knocked to the ground and shatter, but it was certainly not enough to make her feel all better. The pain was still fresh, only hours old, and it stung as if someone had thrown salt into a deep cut.  
  
She needed comfort more than anything else, not the hatred that boiled inside of her, contributing to her inner pains. The phone in front of her was soon in her lap, replacing the box of tissues. Wiping her nose with her hoof, trying to make sure that she could at least be audible between her tears, she absentmindedly dialed the first number that came to her mind, assuming that it would be that of a friend. As she heard the phone ring on the other end, she waited for a cheerful voice to greet her, one filled with estrogen and sympathy.  
  
Unfortunately, that was not quite what she was given.  
  
The voice on the other end was low and most definitely male, scratchy as if it was behind static. A New York faint accent tinted the edges of his words, although not significantly enough to drastically effect his speech. The voice was shockingly familiar, one that she had not heard in the past days, bittersweet hearing it once again. "Go away," the voice grumbled miserably, his tone low. She was able to put a name to a voice after a moment: her co-worker, Dr. Death. Or rather, Dr. Thanatos-of course, everybody preferred to call the Techo by the more sinister name.  
  
A little choking noise came from the back of her mouth. Hesitating slightly, she slammed the receiver back into the cradle, her whole body suddenly slick with sweat. She had completely forgotten about Dr. Death's absence from the workplace, and now felt incredibly guilty for not having called him and checked on his health. She slapped herself internally for not making the excuse of merely checking up on him. Still, now that she had called him once, she found it redundant to call him again-he would probably just complain about leaving him alone. He was probably sick anyway; the whole time she had worked with him, which totaled five years, he had never taken any vacations, nor sick days. It was unusual, then for him to spontaneously disappear for two days in a row, and now, presumably, a third, for she had taken this day off to mope.  
  
There was one more jarring thing that struck her, however-out of all the phone numbers that she had memorized, out of all of the other friends that could have lent a comfortable shoulder for her to lean on, why had she selected the phone number of a Techo as horribly nasty as Dr. Death?  
  
Her phone rang suddenly, nearly making her jump in surprise. The vibrations of the phone rang throughout her body, and she was nearly frightened to death of the prospect of picking it up. She knew instinctively who it would be on the other end-although Dr. Death may not have caller ID, anybody who hadn't been living underneath a rock surely knew about star-sixty-nine. It was unlike her, however, to not answer the phone; the last time she had allowed her answering machine to pick up a phone call when she had been home had been in ages. Swallowing, she picked up the phone, trying to even out her voice.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
The other side of the line was silent, just the sound of heavy breathing on the other end. It was not a threatening brand of breathing, however; it was that of a nervous person, one in fear. Seconds later, the other line was cut off by a loud slam. A rush of relief ran over Rose like an incoming tide, and as she hung up the phone she allowed herself a moment of relaxation. The tide was not high for long, however; soon it went back to low tide, and she was shivering. Her thoughts turned to Dr. Death-well, Charon, really, as she knew was his first name, but she rarely ever called him by it. She found the name Charon slightly eerie-the ferry-runner on the River Styx. It only added to the mystery of him; as she thought about it, she realized she knew little about him, expect that he had worked in the Adoption Center three years prior to him and lived in a lower-class section of Neopian Central, consisting of a crappy apartment complex. In fact, as she recalled, she knew the location and number of his apartment as well.  
  
She did need something to do to get her mind off of Trevor; just dwelling on him would do nothing but sink her into a depression that she did not desire to be in. Shoving the pile of tissues to the ground, she stood up confidently, trying to plaster a smile onto her face. Yes, she remembered where he lived-and heck if she was going to just let herself rot because she had been dumped. If she could not find someone else to comfort her, perhaps she would find solace in comforting another.  
  
Rose checked the crumpled piece of paper at least five times before determining that the apartment door she stood in front of was the right one. The paper she had found in which she had one day written down the address of Dr. Death's apartment had definitely taken its share of wear and tear, the ink smudged and difficult to read, but she was betting that the number at the end was a seven, not a demented nine that she had written hastily.  
  
Still, she was hesitant to answer the door. Just getting to this side of down had frightened her-she had been forced to pass through many dark alleyways, even though it was the middle of the day. Delinquent, ownerless Neopets roamed throughout these places, those that belonged in the Adoption Center, and snarled at her, turning cold shoulders towards her and huddling closer in their small bands. Her heart had pounded in her chest as she took the safest path available to getting to the area, which, admittedly, did not seem very safe, as it consisted of passing through territory of rather hostile stray Neopets, many that Rose felt obliged to flee from. Everything was darker around the area; some houses in the alleyways were composed of little more than cardboard boxes. Even in the apartment, doors swung off hinges, the apartment obviously not looked after very well. It was rough around the edges, snarling in the faces of those softer, those not accustomed to its environment-much like the doctor himself.  
  
It did not prevent her from wishing that he could've lived in a small suburban home in a friendly neighborhood that she could easily walk through without fearing attack.  
  
The knocker on the door was broken, dangling from its side, and even the yellowing letters were beginning to sag. She, for a moment, wondered how she would knock. At the last moment, however, she noticed the rusty metallic panel on the side with a small button and a place for speech. She pressed the button tentatively, and waited. When she did not get a response, she wondered if it were broken or that he went out-in any case, she pressed it a few more times quickly, not wanting to stay much longer in the hallway, for a Bruce three doors down was staring at her in a disturbing manner.  
  
"Sweet Jesus, once is enough, sweetheart." The door suddenly swung open with this phrase, the doctor in the doorway, his hand pressed against his forehead, face invisible as it pointed downwards. His other arm, a cigarette between the fingers of that arm, leaned against the frame of the doorway, his legs crossed somewhat casually.  
  
Rose was absolutely speechless at his appearance. It was undoubtedly Dr. Death-she could not mistake the color and texture of his hair, which was rare in Techos in the first place. She had never, however, seen him in such disarray, nor with only boxers as his only clothing. His body sagged in an exhausted fashion, his posture absolutely atrocious, his boxers seeming to keep his torso attached to his legs, red plaid as they were. He was as thin as a rail, and if she had taken the time, she would've been able to count every one of his ribs without difficulty, his tail swaying behind him lazily. The usual somewhat messy silver-streaked hair was a mere mass atop his head, so full of tangles and knots that she wouldn't have been surprised if a songbird Pteri decided to make a nest of his hair while he was sleeping. His skin was what concerned her the most: its usual vibrant yellow hue had subsided to a greenish-yellow color, dry and chapped for a Techo. Scattered about his arms, legs and torso were scars varying in lengths, so many long fingernails crawling on up his skin. As he looked up, she could see his jaded eyes, a faded grayish-blue in color, seeming to have gained wrinkles at the sides over the past days he had been absent from work.  
  
"Oh. It's you," he said apathetically, and shifted his weight to both legs, placing the cigarette back into his mouth. He allowed his shoulder to lean against the door. "How nice of you to drop by."  
  
"Can I--?" she suggested, motioning towards the inside. Behind him, she could glimpse fragments of the room behind him. Like himself, it was in an absolute clutter, dirty clothes scattered on the floor, thrown across a beaten couch and on top of a cracked television. If the place had been cleaned up, however, she doubted it would be any less bleak-the room was devoid of most things she considered essentials, and those that were there seemed broken or forgotten, buried under dust and clothes and conveniently shoved into corners. However, Dr. Death immediately placed himself in front of the gap that he had created with his body as best he could, though with his thin frame, it was an effort done in vain.  
  
"No. Nobody comes into my apartment," he commented icily. Rose swallowed, uncomfortable. "Just a second-let me get some pants on, maybe a shirt.you came over for a reason, I presume?" Rose hardly heard him, staring in disgusted awe at the many scars accumulated on the Techo, wondering where they had come from. She had heard that he had previously had an abusive owner before becoming independent, but she found it difficult to believe that anyone could achieve such a level of sadism. Quickly, she realized she was staring and stuttered a response.  
  
"Uh, well. . .yeah, I did. I was wondering. . .where you were the last few days." Dr. Death gave her an irritated look, as it was quite obvious that she had been distracted by the marks on his body.  
  
"Cutting," he replied, his voice as flat as a plateau. The two stood in silence for a moment, a mortified look on Rose's face, before a rare smile broke out across the doctor's face, a mocking one that laughed at her and humiliated her. "God, you're gullible," he grumbled, turning back inside to go get changed.  
  
"H-hey, that's not--!" Rose did not get the common courtesy of being able to finish her sentence, as the door slammed right in her face. She gritted her teeth, considering leaving, but stayed, despite the Bruce's eyes staring into her back. She had a temptation to turn around and slap him in the face, but decided against it, as soon the doctor was coming out of the door, pulling on his familiar laboratory coat, although it was obvious he did not plan on returning to work.  
  
"I'm supposing you dislike this neighborhood," he began, locking the door behind him.  
  
"Well. . .I'm certainly not used to it. . ."  
  
"Heh. A fish out of water," he said, shoving his keys into his pocket. For a moment he turned his attention away from Rose and to the Bruce that had been irritating Rose immensely. He dug into his trouser pockets and tossed a couple of coins at his feet. The Bruce looked up in his general direction and smiled vacantly. It then became clear to Rose why the Bruce had been staring at her; he hadn't been staring at all. As she looked closer, she could see a film of milky white over his eyes. A pang of guilt struck through her body.  
  
The two walked in silence down the hall, the doctor not bothering to put out his cigarette although he was well aware of how thoroughly Rose disapproved of his chain-smoking. The question was inevitable, and she figured she may as well get it out of the way.  
  
"Why do you have so many scars?"  
  
The doctor did not answer immediately. He took a long drag on his cigarette, the white part nearly down to the filter. He pinched the end absentmindedly and threw it to the ground, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an opened package of cigarettes and a lighter. Taking in a fresh cigarette, he still did not reply, looking upwards at the broken lights in the hallway. Rose opened her mouth to excuse herself for asking such a question, but he stopped her. "Don't excuse yourself-it just takes time for a Neopet to properly sugar-coat a response for those too naïve to understand."  
  
Rose's eyes widened in offense. "Wh-what? Are you suggesting that I cannot handle a simple story of abuse?"  
  
"That's exactly it. To you, they're all related events-you see the Neopets coming in with scars, you see their drooping faces. You pass them by like just another, treat them with the same kindness, but it's all falsified. They are not related incidents-they are all independent. There is not one single machine that pumps out abused Neopets-it is hundreds, each producing only one, but each effecting others deeply enough. No story of abuse is 'simple,' Rose. It is fattened and fluffed preps like you that say such things are simple. You know nothing of pain," he answered coldly, his eyes not daring to look towards her.  
  
"Fattened?!"  
  
"Metaphorically, Rose," said Dr. Death with a roll of his eyes. Rose wrinkled her nose angrily.  
  
"How dare you say such a thing! I.I should slap you!"  
  
"Go ahead. I've learned to ignore pain. Zen Buddhism and all that good stuff," said Dr. Death sarcastically. "Besides, that's all people like you can do. . .hurt others." Rose clenched her teeth together, suddenly regretting that she had ever come to his apartment building. Hot tears sprang to her eyes as her anger got the better of her; combined with the breakup with Trevor, this was just not turning out to be her day. "Don't cry, sweetheart-you might ruin your makeup."  
  
"It's no mystery why you don't have any friends! You push everyone away, hiding everything behind this tough-guy exterior. You think you're so sophisticated, Doctor Charon Thanatos, hiding behind your MD and your job. You're really just scared of people, scared of what they can do to you just because you had some crappy experience in life. You LET people hate you because you don't know how to interact with them otherwise, to let people like you. You're an idiot! I hate guys like you! You're so concerned with not being hurt that you lose sight of the big picture!"  
  
"What crawled up your behind and died?" With that comment, Rose hit her breaking point that she had been rising slowly to for the past five years. A fuse blew in her head, a wild glare breaking into her tear-glossed eyes. Rose yanked the cigarette out of his mouth and ground the ash end into his forehead furiously, the tears in her eyes breaking the dam and falling down her face.  
  
"There! There's another scar for you, you. . .you. . .FREAK! I hate you!" She thundered off down the hallway in a flurry of superficial tears, sobbing, her body wracking furiously. She didn't know why she bothered to waste her precious time with him, why she bothered to waste tears on someone as heartless as Dr. Death. Still, as she ran down the hallway, she could not find it in herself to storm down the stairway and leave him behind. She faltered in her step, nearly tripping on her hooves, stopping dead in the hallway. She clenched her teeth, trying to gather herself, trying to stop crying, although it was in vain. With a snap of her head, she turned around briskly, looking at Dr. Death with daggers, her speech even and yet carrying a bite that she had never before used in her voice.  
  
"Do you want to know why I called you, Charon? Do you? It's simple, really, just like everything else in this world. A whole collection of simple events. Today, my boyfriend Trevor broke up with me. I thought we had something, something I had never experienced before-I thought we might be going somewhere. I was stupid, and dreamed of having children, having a perfect little life. But it all stopped with those words: I don't want to be with you anymore. Simple words, basic words. I was trying to call someone who might give a care-but for some reason I dialed your number.  
  
"Maybe I thought it was fate-that calling you MEANT something, a new beginning, a turning point. I'll be honest with you-for the first few years I was with you, I thought that maybe you could be decent; maybe you just needed someone to open you up, to change you. Women love challenges-and I was no different. But I was ignorant like the rest of them, thinking I could change something that was long before solidified to stone. Yes, I LIKED you, Charon-maybe even LOVED you. But I was stupid. I was so, so stupid. All I am to you is another prissy primp to avoid in life. Well, if you want me to leave you alone, wish granted: I'm leaving. I'm leaving the job at the Adoption Center, and I'm leaving Neopian Central all together. I always wanted to live somewhere exotic anyway. Getting away from you will just be an added bonus."  
  
Rose was able to break away then, her speech used more to convince herself than to scold the doctor. The choice to leave had been spontaneous and random, but as she thought about it, walking down the stairs, she realized that it was not a horrible idea. Getting away from the shackles that tied her down to this town would be good for a change-besides, she had enough money in the bank, collecting interest, to at least go on a long vacation.  
  
She could not truly feel happy, however, even as hard as she tried, making her departure from the apartment, not daring to look back at Dr. Death. Despite what she told herself, the lies that she fed to her soul were rejecting everything that an outer voice told her. What had Trevor meant to her? He now seemed like a fading memory, really, just another thing to escape from. Had she really wanted him as a husband, as a devoted significant other? Perhaps. But he was fading quicker to a newer reality, the depression from the incident of their breakup giving way to the events of only moments ago. The tears that she thought had stopped suddenly found their way back to her eyes, dripping down her face silently.  
  
For a moment, at the end of the suitcase, she paused, looking back up the many stairs. She almost expected him to be at the top of the staircase, looking down at her and shouting apologies down, begging her to forgive him, admitting that he was a jerk and that she was right. But no. That was not the reality she lived in, and that was not the Techo that she knew. There was only a vacant space where his body should have been in another reality, crying down his sorrow, his sympathy for her breakup. It mirrored the vacancy inside of her heart. 


	2. As The Train Pulls Away

The alarm clock wasn't what woke Charon up the next day-he did not need to be awakened, for his thoughts had managed to keep himself fully conscious, not mattering whether he closed his eyes or not. His mind played and re-played her crying face in his brain over and over again, those words that hurt worse than any sort of abuse, leaving scars bigger than any on his body, including the one forming on his forehead, which he fingered now. It still hurt to touch it, resembling the wounds she had created fresh inside of his soul. Yet he must have been some kind of masochist, for he kept repeating the words in his mind, clutching to the covers, his whole body paralyzed.  
  
He knew he had been a pain in the behind; he had been a pain to Rose, obviously, from day one. He still remembered her fresh face as she came in the door, dressed in one of her designer scarves, a cheerful look on her face. She was the picture of happiness, of something that was alien to the doctor: her mane and short fur on her body were sparkling shades of pink, fluffed and primped to perfection, certainly not someone he was accustomed to seeing through the haze of his secondhand smoke. She sparkled like a starlet, her azure eyes laughing and full of light. There was another thing about her that he wasn't used to: she was nice to him. Call it stupidity, for that's what he had called it, but he found himself growing an affinity for the pretty little Uni.  
  
But he was scared, just like she had said. He was terrified that she would turn out like all the others; he would let her get close, only to have her stab him violently when he was most vulnerable. And so he did the only thing he could to keep himself safe from that horrible attack: he kept her at arms length, was bitter and biting towards her just like everyone else, perhaps more, just to ensure that she wasn't allowed to get closer to him. Yet he had, somehow, through it all-for he felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to expel all of the memories with her from his body, but could not. They simmered in his stomach and haunted him.  
  
Automatically, he reverted to his normal schedule, getting up bright and early at 5:00AM. He crawled into a shower as cold as ice, but did not feel it against his skin. For the first time in as long as he could remember, the numerous scars that lined his skin like worms crawling about his body stung as the water hit them, despite being healed. He hardly scrubbed his body-he just let the water run off of him, his arms clutching themselves. He was thankful when he had determined he must have been clean enough, turning off the water and grabbing the grubby towel from the sink, probably just rubbing more germs onto himself as he dried himself off.  
  
He wasn't really aware of what he was doing-making his coffee, lighting a cigarette, staring blankly-in all reality, he wasn't living; he was only going through the motions of it, not finding any depth within it. He stared with little emotion at the dusty violin that sat on the tattered couch. It seemed to blend into the background, filling spaces that were empty. He crossed his legs mildly and gazed at the instrument, alternating a cigarette and the cup of coffee to his mouth. "It appears I'm off to work again," he spoke to the instrument. The violin, naturally, did not say a word back.  
  
Charon sighed and put his coffee cup down, the coffee only half-finished. Caffeine was not something he needed now to keep himself up. He figured he was only delaying the need to go to work by drinking it as slowly as he did, though he was quite reluctant to get up and leave. With a bit of hesitance to his movements, he reached for his keys and exited the safety and comfort of his apartment.  
  
Charon half-expected, no, wholly wanted, Rose to be there as she always had been before (except for sick days and vacations), smiling cheerfully and offering him a doughnut, as she always had before. He could envision the traditional interaction in his mind as it always occurred. It happened so often that the two had it down more to a fine art than a random conversation.  
  
"Good morning, doctor!"  
  
"Good morning yourself."  
  
"You're only grumpy because you haven't had enough sugar to wake you up yet. Want a doughnut?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Could you put out your cigarette?"  
  
"No to that as well."  
  
But such a conversation was not to be had today-the usual substitute for Rose, a Purple Quiggle that was probably the female version of Dr. Death himself (so naturally he could not stand her), sat in Rose's seat, a trespasser in his territory. The two exchanged glares, Charon situating himself next to the Quiggle Rhea, making sure that his chair was as far as humanly possible from hers while still being underneath the desk. Rhea did likewise.  
  
The first person to come into the Adoption Center was greeted by twin glowers, seeming to hesitate, and then finally coming to Charon's side of the desk. He was a male, and seemed to be covered in many bandages, his left hand cloaked in a leather glove. He carried a white box warily, a furious screaming noise coming from inside of it. "Hello, I'd like to put a pet up for adoption," he said, a distinct sound of relief in his voice. Charon mumbled something underneath his breath, and pulled out some abandoning forms, making sure that he made the abandoner as uncomfortable as possible with the many glares he shot at him. Placing his pen on the first blank, he began firing questions at the abandoner.  
  
"Name?"  
  
"Jerry Wilson."  
  
"Pet type?"  
  
"Pteri."  
  
"Color?"  
  
"Fire."  
  
"Level?"  
  
"Uh.five, I think."  
  
"Gender?"  
  
"Female?"  
  
"Pet name?"  
  
"FireyPheonix."  
  
"You spelled that wrong."  
  
"Yeah, I was having a brain fart when I named her."  
  
"Reason for abandonment?"  
  
"She's freaking insane. I adopted her because I wanted a mild raptor that could possibly catch me some game. I'm a falconer after all. I decided to get a fiery Pteri, hearing that they could be a challenge. I had no idea. I've been trying to man her for the past few weeks and she's mauled me with her talons all thirty-five days. Even hooded she's not calm-she's in a giant hood AND hooded and she's still screaming her vocal chords out. She got so freaked out, she nearly broke all of her tail feathers before I could even get an envelope on 'em."  
  
"It's no wonder-it's a fiery Pteri. They don't like humans much. It's your fault; you should've realized that you don't have the responsibility to take on such a project," pointed out Charon darkly, looking up at Jerry with a deadly glare. "People like you should stick to the easy types in falconry, such as Cloudies."  
  
"Hey, I have seven years of experience in the sport and the thing still almost took out my eye. She's just not manning."  
  
"Whatever you say," replied Charon sarcastically, bringing out a stamp and the red ink, stamping 'approved' onto the front and then opening another drawer, slipping the paper into one of the many stacks of folders crammed with papers. Charon stood up and took the box from Jerry, the box shaking and jolting with the angry Pteri inside. The person named Jerry walked out, a sense of relief about the man. Charon, on the other hand, was far from relieved. As he walked into the back room to put away the Pteri in an appropriate kennel, he was welcomed by jeers and screaming from the pets. Their usual symphony of hatred was usually something he ignored, but today it sunk into him, absorbing their words like a sponge and water. He wanted to cave in on himself and disappear.  
  
He selected a kennel for the Pteri far away from the other, utterly isolated. It did not seem to want to be by others, especially as Charon dared open the cage. The flustered Pteri shot out of the giant hood like a fireball on wings, darting around its new cage. A hood was still on its head, impairing its sight, making it difficult for it to see. It screamed pointlessly, landing on the ground and opening its wings to make itself look larger, unsure whether a predator was there or not.  
  
"Quiet down there, girl. . .I'm not trying to hurt you. . ."  
  
Charon tried to reach inside of the kennel, but immediately was footed, the long, sharp talons sinking into his flesh. Cringing, he pulled away, the excited Pteri releasing him graciously. 'Just scared, not trying to hurt you,' he reminded himself, having gone through this with a few other fiery Pteris before. "I'm not going to hurt you-I'm not a human, after all." With a swift movement, he grabbed at the Pteri, pulling her to his chest. The Pteri screamed out definitely, striking out blindly with its talons. He let her grip his arm tightly, ignoring the pain-while she was anchored to his arm, he loosened the straps on the back of hood and slid the hood off.  
  
Her eyes were vibrant and that of a predator, glaring at him with fright mixed with hatred. He grabbed her legs and removed her as best he could from his arm and put her was gently as she allowed back into her cage amidst her struggling. Closing the door as quickly as possible, he breathed in heavily, locking the door tightly. As he inspected her, he could see that the Jerry was right-nearly all of her tail feathers were broken, leaving her flightless for the time being. The thought of imping the feathers of such a temperamental bird seemed to be some kind of living nightmare, but it would have to be done nonetheless, the sooner the better. It would keep his mind off of Rose, perhaps, although the two had always been partners when it came to imping feathers. He tried to forget that, looking through the bars at the frantic Pteri.  
  
He remembered seeing through the opposite end of those bars, looking through to the face of an adoption center employee such as himself. He could imagine what the Pteri was seeing now, what she was feeling. He could sympathize with her sudden change of environment, of her desperation to be free. Though he now had a nice set of wounds from the bird, he still felt pity for it, could not hate her despite her temper. If she had been a wild bird, she would've been flying free above her territory, looking down on the numerous prey, thinking about her mate and her nestlings at this time of year. IF she had been free.  
  
"We're not that different, are we, FireyPheonix. We're both trapped- me, by my emotions, you, by a physical barrier. I'll tell you what, birdie- once we've got your tail feathers fixed up and healed, I'll do something that could get me fired for my job and fined a pretty penny-I'm going to let you go into the wild. You don't belong here, behind these bars. Your coat might catch you a fine price, but they'll never be able to handle you. You're a free spirit. You can't be held down."  
  
For a moment the bird seemed to comprehend, stopping its futile efforts to free itself of the cage. It gave a curious squawk, tilting its head. Charon smiled slightly, standing straight upwards. Leaving the Pteri to herself, he walked down the aisle of the many furious Neopets, their glares stabbing into his back, their words dulling his senses. He clenched his fists against their angry words, against their insults, their constant abuse of words that should not have been used. He felt a serving of food splattering against his side. He did not halt, but continued walking, staring straight ahead, his eye sight not wavering. They jeered at him, called him horrible names, told tales of things he never did but told them anyway. His jaw was tight, but his throat tighter. Compiled with the loss of Rose, he could no longer stand their words that used to bounce off of him as if he were made of rubber. They penetrated his flesh and struck his soul with an enormous power, a blitzkrieg of cruelty.  
  
Down his face came the tears, the tears he hadn't cried since the day he had become independent, since the day he vowed he would let anyone make him cry again. The day his hair started becoming gray, the day his words became cruel and snide, the day his face became stuck into a hardened expression. Yet he still walked not, not allowing them the courtesy of an insult back. He could hear them laughing at his tears, at his problems, at how he looked. He could hear them all, all the individual comments that he could not avoid. He was more than an outcast here. He was utterly and totally alone.  
  
Amidst the chaos, a single Pteri gave a cry of sympathy.  
  
"How's she healing?"  
  
"Fine. The feathers seem to be taking, although they do make her plumage look a little uneven. I imagine that she should be able to fly today if she truly wanted to," commented Rhea, sorting papers and not looking up at Charon, preferring the papers to his company. "Oh yes, and I transferred her to another kennel with another Neopet-it's typical of a heartless person like you to isolate the poor thing." Charon could almost feel his stomach drop into his intestines like a lead weight, his eyes becoming wide.  
  
"You what?"  
  
"I put her in a cage with another Neopet. A Meerca. She was sleeping- didn't make a peep when I transferred her." Charon clenched his teeth, the filter of his cigarette flattening.  
  
"IDIOT!" With only those words as a hesitation, Charon shot like a bullet from the side of the desk into the kennel room. His lab coat waving behind him, he was quickly informed by the residents of a horror down in the cages, their shrieks and sobs evident. Instead of insulting him, they were now insulting Rhea's ignorance. He ignored them, only hearing some snippets of their conversations, scanning each and every kennel for a particularly fire-colored Pteri.  
  
Soon, he found her. There was no other Neopet in the cage with her- only specks of fur. Her crop bulged enormously underneath her wickedly curved beak, her feathers fluffed out contentedly from a good meal. Her food dish, however, was still filled to the brim with pieces of meat. Specks of blood were evident on her beak, as well as her talons. She opened one eye lazily and gave a small burp, a small amount of fur coming out with the noise.  
  
"Oh.sweet Jesus." gasped Charon, unable to believe his eyes. The Meerca was absolutely gone-the only sign that it had ever existed was the way that the Pteri FireyPheonix seemed completely content after a nice meal. "DARN IT!" he shouted, stomping the floor. Running back down the aisle and to the front desk, he grabbed Rhea by the collar and pulled her up out of her chair, his face absolutely fuming. "WHAT DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?" Rhea looked up at him in bafflement, unsure of what was going on.  
  
"Wh-what?"  
  
"You NEVER put a predator and prey in the same cage! Fiery Pteris are not songbirds, woman-they're accipiters, hawks! Would you put an Lupe in the same cage as an Ixi? No! Because you know when you get back, there isn't going to be an Ixi in that cage! The same goes for Pteris and other small, rodent-like Neopets-they never belong in the vicinity of one another!"  
  
"So?"  
  
"So?! We're down one Meerca because of your absolute stupidity!" he screamed in her face, and then threw her back down into her chair in disgust. Storming back into the kennel isles, he found the cage with the Pteri in it almost instantly. Scrambling to open the lock, he just barely managed to in time before Rhea came in after him. He opened the cage door and scooped up the Pteri, stomping down the hallway with it in his arms. Rhea chased after him, demanding to know what he was doing.  
  
"What are you planning to do?! That Pteri harmed another Neopet in the kennel-in the book, that means it needs to be euthanized," said Rhea, her voice sounding very official for someone who had just made a very stupid mistake.  
  
"It only 'harmed' another Neopet because of an employee's error-that means that employee should be fired!" snarled Charon, and finally got to the end of the hallway, the Pteri beginning to struggle in his arms, disliking being held in such a demeaning manner. Throwing the door open, the smell of fresh air wafted into the stale air of the kennel run, sunlight streaming inside. The superb weather, however, was not good enough to cheer Charon up-not in the slightest.  
  
"Dr. Death, I'm warning you-if you let that Pteri go, I'm reporting you to the authorities. You'll lose your job, at the least. I will," threatened Rhea, holding a cell phone up as if it were her best evidence to a terrible crime that had been committed. Charon looked back at her mildly, his expression not seeming to care at all.  
  
"Go ahead. I can't free myself from what will happen, what I am, where I'm going. At least I can do what I can't do for myself for something else."  
  
Holding up his arms, he lifted the Pteri up to the sky. The Pteri gave an excited cry, stumbling to get to its feet. It was a bit heavy for flying, but it could still manage to get off of its wings with a bit of work. Opening its small wings, it steadied itself on Charon's hands, not necessarily trying to hurt him with her talons, but still doing so anyway. With one strong flap, and then another, the Pteri was off into the air, opening its wings wide, spreading them until it was a yard higher, than another, from Charon's still out-stretched arms. He watched in fascination as the Pteri gave a full-throated scream into the air, floating up higher and higher, the wind underneath its wings boosting it to incredible heights. He could do nothing but watch, his mouth gaping open, his eyes straining to see the Pteri as it became higher and higher, flying towards its freedom. No. It didn't need to get there. It was already free.  
  
She didn't know why she had came back. It had taken her a few days to pack up all of her things into boxes-organizing things helped her keep her mind off of Dr. Death after all, preoccupying her and letting her think about other things, such as where each artifact came from and why it belonged in her house. There had only been one time where she had been ripped away from her façade of happiness; she had come across a small glass figurine of a Uni, standing in a proud stance. As she tried to place it in her memory, her heart leapt into her throat-it was the small trinket-like prize that Dr. Death had just barely managed to get her when the carnival had come to Neopia Central. He had complained many days afterwards how useless it was, working so hard to get such a small and worthless prize, but she secretly had been quite flattered by it, pleased that he had done something for her. Now, however, it was a different story.  
  
Hooves trembling on its surface, she ran them over the glass figurine's smooth curves, manufactured perfectly. She could feel tears stinging at the back of her eyes, and quickly threw the figurine across the room, almost an automatic reaction, instantaneous. It smashed against the wall, leaving a dent in the paint, shattering into small fragments and then falling to the floor. She didn't dare clean them up; she merely left the broken pieces on the floor, hoping whomever moved in next would have the common sense to sweep them up before they stepped on them.  
  
But as soon as all of her bags had been packed, ready to leave, she had gotten a peculiar phone call from one of her friends, a Usul who was always immersed in the newest gossip. Rose wasn't extremely fond of her, as gossip wasn't something that a honest Uni like herself wanted to be seen participating in, but she immediately gained interest in the conversation as soon as the words 'Dr. Death' came up.  
  
"What about him?" she asked huffily, her mood changing rapidly from pleased to stormy in just mere seconds.  
  
"He released some violent and dangerous Pteri into the wild today. He's been fired from his job and had to sell most of the stuff in his apartment because of a fine he couldn't pay. He's practically bankrupt. That Techo deserved it after all-what goes around, comes around. You worked with him, didn't you? I swear, he was one of the most unpleasant Neopets I have ever come across. You didn't hear this from me, but the pets in the pound say. . ."  
  
Rose had tuned out about at that point, almost dropping the phone in shock. The doctor had always been so very responsible, always reminding her begrudgingly about all of the rules around the Adoption Center and the many things that one could do to be kicked out of the job. To think of him doing something like letting a potentially dangerous animal into the wild was almost unimaginable. Soon, however, she was forced to tune back into the Usul's drone on about new gossip to tell her that she had to finish packing up, although in truth all of her things had been put away. She was grateful to get off of the phone, but found herself now invaded by different voices in her head, telling her all different things.  
  
'He deserved it. What a hypocrite. He was always lecturing us about not letting pets into the wild and off he goes and. . .'  
  
'There must have been a good reason. Though it's hard to believe, there was always a reason he did everything. . .'  
  
'Why should I care about a jerk like that?'  
  
'I need to see how he's doing. NOW!'  
  
The last voice eventually won out on the day that Rose was winning after having fought a furious battle with the other voices inside of her head, telling her all different things. All of her things had been picked up that day by a large moving van, the driver ensuring her that he would get her things to the proper house before she arrived on the train. She didn't opt to sit in the seat next to him, traveling to her house that way, for she was, first and foremost, very sensitive to the odor that he was emitting, and secondly, needed to say a few good-byes.  
  
After having said good-bye to all of her girlfriend and assorted friends who happened to be male, crying a few times, the shock of leaving just hitting her at that moment, she had found herself walking towards Dr. Death's neighborhood. The fear was still instated in her about the neighborhood, yet she walked on, past the dark eyes that followed her through the alleyways. Keeping her head high and as confident as possible, she only stopped briefly to throw some money into the cup of a beggar, who looked up at her and smiled, waving. She exchanged a smile with him, and then ascended up into the apartment building she knew to contain Dr. Death's apartment, her smile fading as she walked through the hallway.  
  
What was she supposed to say to someone who she had previously yelled at, someone she had previously told she hated? Was she just supposed to burst in, pretending as if nothing had happened? No, that seemed a little shallow even for her. Still, she was hesitant to face the awkward pause that she knew would occur when Dr. Death opened the door, assuming that the man was even there.  
  
At the door, her hoof shook above the metallic button. She contemplated whether to press it or not, perspiration running down her forehead. 'It's not a monumental decision, Rose. Just press the darn button,' she told herself. Taking in a deep breath, she pulled back her finger and prepared to press the button.  
  
But before her hoof could hit the metal, the door swung open, spooking her a bit. In the doorway stood Dr. Death, again only dressed in boxers, the purple circles underneath his eyes clearly having expanded. The smell of burning ash was stronger than ever on him, but in some ways comforting-it was a familiar smell to her now. He looked like he had experienced some kind of disastrous storm, his eyes frantic and desperate, searching her face for a sign of something. She tried not to look at the wound she had inflicted on his forehead. "Rose," he uttered. He looked as if he would fall forward onto her, his deathly thin legs barely supporting his frame, but he managed to support himself, clutching to the side of the door frame.  
  
Behind him, she could see his apartment-but it was different this time. Instead of seeming empty filled with things, it was just plain empty- practically nothing was on the floor, not even dirty clothes. The room was barren and empty. Seeing that she had seen his pathetic excuse for a living place, he quickly shut the door behind him, suppressing a blush.  
  
"What happened?" she asked, unable to ask anything else. A frazzled smile came onto his face, so very different from the Dr. Death she knew.  
  
"I granted the Pteri something I can't give, because I don't have it myself."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's not important. You're leaving today, aren't you," said Dr. Death flatly, becoming more of the Techo that she remembered. He looked down at the floor abashedly, seeming to want to say something, but unable to do so. Rose tried to catch his eyes, but found her efforts futile. Slowly, she nodded, her tail swishing slightly behind her, nervous.  
  
"Y-yeah. It's hard saying good-bye to people." Dr. Death didn't reply, staring at the floor, unblinking. He shivered slightly, as if cold.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said finally, his expression looking as if a great weight were lifted off his shoulders.  
  
"Sorry? For what?"  
  
"For being so hard on you all those years. I didn't. . .mean to make it so hard for you," he admitted softly, his voice low and regretful. "I'm sorry for being so hard to get along with. Thanks for putting up with it anyway," he said with a lift of his shoulder, wringing his spindly hands. "You were right, you know," he said in a whisper, his words almost inaudible. "I'm too scared to let people get close. I can't interact with people properly. I'm worthless."  
  
Rose realized that it probably should've been a victory for her, but found instead that it only made her feel worse, a hand reaching into her stomach and twisting her organs violently. She tried to say something, but no words came out-she couldn't think of anything to say to comfort such a lonely man. "You should probably leave now," said Dr. Death, turning his back to her. The scars on his back were even worse, obviously inflicted from some kind of whip, as if to flog him on to do something that he didn't want to. "You're going to miss your train."  
  
"Oh.I am," she said, looking at her watch, although there was no panic in her voice. "Good-bye, Charon," she said, trying to think of something elaborate to say. 'Say it,' her mind urged her. 'You only have this time. Why can't you say it? They're just three simple words. Even someone who's known English for half a year should know these words. Just say them!' "Maybe I'll see you later?"  
  
"You probably won't," he answered, and retreated behind his door, closing it slowly but definitely. It wasn't a slam, but it still felt like a blow to Rose, a slap in the face, gentle as it was. She stood in front of the door for a moment, memorizing it, making a permanent memory of it. Even if she left, she would never forget this doorway, forget the sad Techo that lived behind it. Nobody, anyway, ever forgets anyone they have ever loved.  
  
It puzzled him why he was doing this, why he was straining his body like this. Her train was probably gone, anyway-there was no way that he could catch up to a train on foot at all, and his car had been taken away from him. Catching a taxi was not an option: he didn't have any money to pay the taxi driver with. But still he pushed himself on, with the slimmest hope that she might still be there, his lab coat that had been thrown hastily on with a pair of pants flapping behind him.  
  
Why hadn't he said good-bye? Why hadn't he said those three simple words? They were not difficult, yet at the same time so impossible, warping themselves on his tongue, turning out in ways that he did not want them to. He needed to say them, to get them off of his soul-even if she didn't feel the same way, he at least needed to tell her, to have her know, even if he would never see her again. He didn't know how he would manage to get them off of his tongue without making them come out strange, without making them come out in a way he did not want, but he was determined to at least get to her in time.  
  
But no. As he approached the train station at full speed, the sound of a train departing echoed in his ears. Running up to the train, he looked upwards at the towering metal beast beginning to speed away, panting as he looked up at the windows, scanning for her face. Where was she? She had to be on the train somewhere, departing, leaving for her new home. This was the one-he had checked the train schedules, and this was the train that would be taking her away. She was leaving him, and he hadn't had the chance to say good-bye, to say those three little words that he had never managed to get out. It couldn't happen like this. This couldn't be the end of Rose in his life-this couldn't be it. He refused to accept it, and waved frantically at the passengers in the train, hoping to catch Rose's eye somehow, some way.  
  
"ROSE! I. . ." The train sped away, the back of the car facing him, himself only able to watch as it slowly shrank in the distance. His hands slowly descended to his side, hitting his thighs. ". . .love you. . ." he finished to the departing train, a numbness spreading throughout his body.  
  
Yet as his eyes wandered away from the departing train, a piece of his heart feeling ripped from his chest, he noticed there was still one passenger on the boarding deck, a deck that was supposed to now be devoid of passengers, perhaps that of only a few getting off. His eyes fell onto the single passenger, a passenger wracked with sobs, weeping silently to herself. It was a Uni, a beautiful young Uni, holding a small bag in her hand, her head bowed downwards. She looked up slowly, her vibrant blue eyes shimmering with tears. "Charon. . ." she managed to squeak between her sobs, her face totally damp.  
  
"Rose," he said, his tone disbelieving. Slowly, he crossed the train tracks as if in a dream, setting foot before her. She had not left, although it felt surreal, her standing in front of him, physically there. For a moment, there was silence between them, and then she lifted a hoof and smacked him squarely across the face, making him stumble backwards slightly.  
  
"Don't ever call yourself worthless," she scolded between gasps for air, and then almost fell forward onto him, throwing her arms around his neck. She buried her face in his lab coat, weeping uncontrollably. He was in shock at first, his cheek stinging. He wiped away his confusion, though, slowly embracing her as well, allowing his chin to rest on her shoulder. "You're not worthless to me," whispered Rose into his shoulder, holding him tightly.  
  
"I'm sorry, Rose," he said softly, his face immersed in her soft pink mane. It didn't matter what happened after this-for one moment he had been truly, genuinely happy in his life, and that would be enough. "I'm so very sorry."  
  
"It's going to be a real hassle to get all of my things back to my house," admitted Rose with a slight smile. "Not to mention convincing the new residents that I need my house back."  
  
The two stood at Charon's apartment door, each still feeling warm from the incident, Charon just barely able to suppress a giddy, idiotic smile. "Well, at least you'll have the job to go back to," said Charon with a shrug. "That's more than I can say."  
  
"We'll get you your job back. It's just a matter of time," assured Rose. "Let a sleeping dog lie and soon people forget about it. Besides, you were always the best at it." Charon nodded, opening the door to his apartment. Rose nodded slowly to herself, as wondering if this were truly real. "Well, I suppose I should be going now. . .I'll leave you in peace." She turned to leave, but was stopped as Charon rested a hand gingerly on her shoulder. She turned back around, curious to what he had to say.  
  
"Do you.want to come in?" he asked, his face turning a slight shade of red. Perhaps atypical of him, but she still found the invitation welcoming, someone there to finally comfort her. No longer was the apartment barred to her entrance. A smile stretched across her face, and she replied softly, her eyes filled with the promise of a new beginning.  
  
"Okay."  
  
Author's Note: Ewww. . .happy. I was originally gonna have Rose die lung cancer and Dr. Death go all depressive and slash himself up, but I was like 'gotta be happy, dammit!' and so crap-ified it like this. 


End file.
